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Beats the hell outa me. I've had it for the last month. Days begin with me having the best of intentions to get cracking at that third act that's been stumping me. That day turns into two. Then three. Then a week. Then two. Then a month. By this point the self loathing starts to kick in.
But I like self loathing. It's the way I feel after I've binged on a pint of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia. It's only after the self loathing comes that I feel ready to start dieting and, well, writing.
I guess I have a body of work. Four published plays, three pilot deals, episodes on a few sitcoms, two sold screenplays that haven't been made (yet) plus other plays that had productions or readings or workshops and three published books and a slew of other screenplays that nothing happened to.
Mainly, I look at the stack of stuff I've done and, admittedly, some are just OK, some are pretty bad and a few are pretty good and maybe three things are really good and I'm proud of them.
But on each and every project, whether good or bad, I had writers block. Somehow I got through it and finished each project. Other things I've started and not completed, but I'v never really given up on something that had more than 50 pages. I've always figured that if I hit 50 I could sustain the balance.
And I have lots of false starts. 10 pages. 20. Sometimes a first act. But I either lost interest or couldn't make it work or found out that it was just like something that either was just released in theaters or I heard about a sale, so I abandoned it.
Point is: writers blocks end. Eventually. Some last longer than others. But if you're patient, it will end.
Until the next one comes. |
